“The rising sun,” she answered quickly. “The morning is so full of promise. Surely that would be the god to choose if there really were such gods, and one were to be sacrificed.”
All this talk came to a sudden end as the chief, stepping forward, took first the hand of the white girl, then that of her companion. After that, nodding to Roderick and the Mayas, he led them into his house.
There, seated on mats, with a cool breeze floating in from open windows, they were soon being served to a refreshing drink and to food that was familiar, but that seemed passing strange in these weird surroundings.
“Hot tamales!” Johnny exclaimed as a great mahogany tray of tamales was set before them.
“Mm-m!” murmured Jean as she tasted hers. “Wild turkey tamale. How delicious!”
“They should understand the making of them,” said Johnny as he took a generous mouthful. “Unless I am mistaken the Mayas invented them. They probably served them on plates of gold before Columbus discovered America; yes, or even Solomon found his mines.”
“How—how picturesque! How romantic!” murmured the girl.
Johnny agreed with her, but in his mind many questions were constantly bobbing up demanding an answer.
That night as he lay alone on a comfortable bed of mats with a heavy home woven blanket for protection from the night chill of this higher altitude, he thought of many things.
As he heard the steady pat-pat of a sentry’s feet as he paced before the door of that long, low house, he realized that they were virtually prisoners. They were being treated very well, and would be in the future, he hoped. But would the Mayas allow them to return home? He doubted it. The trails to this hidden city of the wild Mayas—it was truly a city and already Johnny had seen thousands of the little brown people—were secret trails. How Roderick had come to stumble upon the trail they had followed, he could not tell. Well enough the native chief knew that to allow these uninvited guests to depart was to throw away the key to his castle and city.